Lamentation
by FollunEnikantgitup
Summary: For somebody who believes in second chances, not having a first chance can make it hard to move on.


_This is my first time writing any sort of fanfiction, so I appreciate any feedback whether it's positive or negative. _

_Disclaimer: Naruto and the Naruto universe belong to Masashi Kishimoto_

Lamentation

His time with his people was coming to an end. The rattling in his lungs, the ache in his joints, the constant shaking of his hands. Everything pointed to an end for one of Konohagakure's greatest leaders. Thankfully, he hadn't been needed in that capacity for some time now, but he still received the occasional request to attend public functions as nothing more than a way of saying _our legend lives on_. He couldn't say he truly understood the why—he hadn't been an intimidating shinobi for years—but people were always eager to listen to the Hero of all of the stories, and his presence and mental acumen had only increased with age. Despite this, he felt the times passing him by. Friends, colleagues, peers—all had long been gone from the old man's life through battle, sickness, or old age. Many of them had sons and daughters who had already followed them, and grandchildren who were advancing in years. For one who had led a life of blood, death, and violence—the life of a shinobi—for so long, he was indeed a very old man. Older, in fact, than nature intended, but since when did he ever follow intentions?

For all of his years, he had very few regrets. He did not regret friends lost or deaths caused, but rather moments lost and people forgotten. Being able to turn and corner and greet an old friend, receiving a hot meal after returning from a mission after all other shops had closed, simply being there for a loved one in a time of loss or grief, the simplest things in life were often the easiest to miss. Despite this, one regret lingered far beyond the rest. The one person he could have saved, one death he should have prevented, the one person with whom he would have shared his life, dead before she was even given a chance. He never forgave himself for his biggest failure, and he never tried. How could he, when every morning he woke up to the deep sorrow of a lonely bed and an empty home, when he watched the happy reunion of husbands, wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends after extended and dangerous missions, and when, at the end of each day, he would lie restless in a cold bed plagued by the thought of a life without the special love shared by only one, without spending holidays with a son with his eyes or a daughter with her hair and smile, without the warm embrace his heart desperately desired. The memories—or lack of—haunted his every waking moment, and though he hid it well, few of his special people knew what his distant looks and distracted sighs meant and would make multiple attempts to lighten the mood.

His former teammate even went so far as to offer something more than the others, something he knew she would rather offer to another and something he knew he could not take lest it tarnish the memory and respect due to the one truly wanted. Rumors still surfaced, however, though neither paid much attention to them. Their relationship from that point remained platonic, and while they were closer than a brother and sister normally would be, the comparison could definitely be made.

When he first lost her, he buried himself in work. Missions, logistics work, and training kept him busy throughout the day and most of the night. To the great delight of prospective genin, he even volunteered some of his time at the ninja academy. His superiors weren't so easily fooled, however, and soon restricted his activity due to "recklessness"—he didn't see how he had changed any from his earlier years. Stuck in the village and rebuilding efforts, he finally had to face his failure. She would never be around to help plan the reconstruction, she would never bring a smile to a young orphan who reminded her so much of the one she loved, she would never be able to facilitate the change she had initiated within her clan. She would never blushed when he noticed her. She would never stutter when they spoke. She would never be around to share his victories.

Ever Again.

Those two simple words brought such sharp pain that, even after so many years, his throat tightened, breathing became even more difficult, and his vision blurred slightly. _If only they could see me now_. The stories always painted him as some great hero, one of the most powerful ninja to ever throw a kunai, and one of the greatest leaders to ever wear a hat. They didn't show what happened behind closed doors, the tears, cries, and sobs. The days spent with the curtains drawn tightly shut, refusing to acknowledge visitors. The hours spent mourning at her grave. His was not a life of glamour; it was not a life of fame. It was a shell of a life, an empty life, a half-life.

So he lived his life alone yet not alone. Loved by a village but having no one to love. Cherished by all yet cherishing none. Surrounded by friends and those who cared, but never having a shoulder to cry on or someone to race home to when he returned to the village. He survived through force of habit and repetition. He maintained a strict routine each and every day, rarely deviating to spend the odd lunch with friends or visit with colleagues during a holiday or festival.

The life of retirement, he had decided, did not suit him. While he had never looked forward to the forms, paperwork, and red tape that came with the highest office, he now had very little to do besides taking extended walks, lecturing students, and reading. He still laughed at that last one and could only imagine the horror it would inspire in his younger self, but he had found a deep enjoyment reading brought to his restless mind in the lonely, sleepless nights and had quickly made a habit of reading in the quiet hours of the early dawn and twilight hours. Though he never opened the books written by his fallen mentor so many years ago, he still kept the full collection just for the sake of having something from him. Apart from he could most often be found walking familiar paths of local gardens and parks, if not standing—or sitting lately—in front of young and bright-eyed students hoping to mark their own place in the histories. Of course, he always made special time for orphans or anybody for her clan. He liked to think she would appreciate that.

On the odd day that he didn't show up to the academy for his scheduled time, he was found in his small, humble home sitting in his garden. His body, though long past the time where it should have felt cold, had remained warm from the bright light of the sun. Uzumaki Naruto passed away in his favorite sunny place.

He was buried next to Hyuuga Hinata.


End file.
